


you're a cryptic crossword of a song I've never heard

by Swing Set in December (swing_set13)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2012-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 03:57:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swing_set13/pseuds/Swing%20Set%20in%20December
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the Starbucks, in all the towns, in all the world, Stiles discovers a Derek Hale he never knew existed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're a cryptic crossword of a song I've never heard

**Author's Note:**

> Story derived from my head canon where Derek is enrolled at a college, at least he divides his time between creeping on Beacon Hills’ lacrosse and studying out in his car and like the real reason he’s surly is that he has a ten page paper due and he’s been up all night chasing teenagers who don’t listen when he could have been getting a head start on his readings. I mean he could have been studying at a Starbucks instead of being wanted for murder. And that giant textbook in Stiles’ room is really his. Un-beta'd so be kind. And comments, I live for them.

It’s not like Stiles planned to find out. Or was spying on anyone. Not Derek. Never Derek. No. He’d say it Spanish. For emphasis. But his dad had been passive aggressively leaving college pamphlets around the house and sighing significantly whenever the TV played a college commercial. Usually ones with overly enthusiastic students throwing Frisbees and high fiving each other. 

So Stiles has hit the roads on a bright Saturday morning towards Pasadena to check out Caltech’s open house. He hits a bit of traffic but he’s pulling into visitors’ parking before ten and already eager to see what kind of swag he can haul from the tables already set up for prospective students. But coffee first. He needs coffee.

Stiles maneuvers his way through the crowds of parents and eager eyed high school seniors and grumpy students towards the caffeine nirvana. He’s standing in line at the campus’ Starbucks when he gets a text from his dad, one conveying how happy he is for Stiles taking initiative and apologizing for not being there with him. Double shifts are no one’s friend. Stiles sighs and rolls his shoulders before texting back that he hopes this means no more pamphlets but his dad replies with a happy face emoticon.

Stiles takes that as a no. A Spanish no. He contents himself by ordering the most cavity inducing drink and sending a picture of it to his dad. He’s almost out of the cafe when he nearly trips over his own feet in shock. Not twenty feet away is one Derek Hale, alpha to the misfit toys pack of Beacon Hills, hunched over a epic textbook with pen ink on his face and half a dozen empty coffee cups. 

He has a deer in headlights moment. One of sinking desperation where he credits Derek’s ninja skills too much. Because, the last he heard of the alpha, who was even twitchier since spring break, has been nothing. Nada. Not since the full moon. Where Derek looked haggard and was pretty much a surly mess. Typical Derek. 

Stiles wonders if Derek had his Jeep lojacked. Despite Pasadena being only a 40 minute drive from Beacon Hills, he didn’t expect Derek to track him down. Not on a Saturday. He usually shows up worn and ragged at ass o’clock in the morning to threaten Stiles and use his wi-fi since the Hale property is still a crime scene.

Stiles is bewildered to how Derek found him. It's no secret that Derek’s innate ability to pop out of nowhere has greatly increased since his new alphaness and he’s always displayed a knack for being everywhere and nowhere. Like a ninja. Or Batman. But this is eerie. Like the great lake.

Stiles contemplates throwing his drink and running. But vetoes that for a later escape plan for two reasons. One, he spent 5.60$ on his drink. And two, he’s pretty sure he’d end up with most of it on himself.

So he does the next best thing, which is to crouch low and hug the wall median that separates the serving line and the rest of the cafe and gracelessly tumble into a chair behind where Derek is camped out. Stiles is expecting Derek to practice is usual modus operandi and haul Stiles up from his chair but after a eternity. Well, five minutes. Nothing happens. Stiles' death grip on his coffee relaxes and he's brave enough to casually glance around the cafe. Regrettably, his vantage point is not ideal in spotting Derek, who is backed into the one coveted alcove the coffee shop has. Stiles has to crane his neck to get a good look. He nearly dumps his drink in shock. Derek has a highlighter. Derek is highlighting. Highlighting with a vengeance. Like Stiles' caliber highlighting. He's adsorbed. His green eyes flickering quickly across the pages. 

Stiles leans to far back and almost tumbles into someone else's armchair. A girl with hipster glasses who glares at him before huffing away with her iced mocha. Stiles unashamedly steals her spot. His view improves and he grabs an old newspaper to hide behind except, Derek isn't looking up. He even appears to have earbuds on. 

Stiles brain short circuits. 

This is the same guy who is perplexed by texting. Derek owning an iPod isn't computing. Neither is Derek in direct sunlight. Or a Derek who's worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. It's all very, well, it's all very human. 

Which kind of clashes horribly with Stiles' world view of Derek Hale. Sour wolf. Bossy alpha. Surly guy friend. 

Yeah. 

Stiles thinks Derek's drinking tea. Or a latte. A tea latte? Stiles didn't even think that existed. If he sees Derek eat a cake pop, his brain may break. Like permanently. It could be the herald of the apocalypse. The candy apocalypse, hopefully. Stiles isn't too keen on a fiery apocalypse. 

Stiles debates going over. Like, he's been creeping for about twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of Derek leafing through notebooks, two textbooks and scribbling into a yellow legal pad. Stiles has already polished off his drink and his hands are itching to take a photo with his phone. Proof that this is real, not some fever dream where Derek is normal and not that looming black hole of emotion who holds the entire world's problems on his shoulders. 

Stiles bites his lip in contemplation. His heart twinges awkwardly of how the misfit pack views Derek. Not as a person. More of something supernatural. But here Derek is. Acting unassuming and normal. And Stiles feels bad. Like, not knowing Derek's life outside Beacon Hills existed. One free of hunters, overly emotive teenagers who never listened or knew when to be quiet. 

Stiles doesn't want to ruin it. And he kind of wants to apologize. 

By the looks of it, Derek's been burning the candle at both ends. From Beacon Hills to Pasadena. And hasn't said a thing. Merely soldiered on. Stiles feels that inexplicable urge to fix it. Like when his dad burns the midnight oil on a case or when Scott is failing Spanish. 

He gets up to toss his now empty cup, jittery but not from the caffeine. He gets back in order line, smaller than the first time he came in. The barista eyes him weirdly. Stiles figures she wasn't overly impressed with his ninja spying antics. He rattles is order anyways and uses his last twenty on it. It doesn't take long before it's ready and he's teetering over to Derek's table, like it's due North. 

He thrusts the cup in front of Derek's face before he losses his nerve and runs back to his Jeep. 

"London Fog," he says rather than the awkward hello he had planned. Derek looks bewildered and maybe more than a bit sleep deprived. Stiles covets the knowledge that he knows why now. "It's a tea latte thing."

His tongue feels sluggish and he stutters at the look Derek is shooting him. It's not familiar. Not in any of the angry surly repertoire of faces Stiles is accustomed to back in Beacon Hills. It almost looks indulgent and curious. 

"I got the same, tea's got anti-oxidants, so better than coffee, right?" 

Derek takes the cup hesitantly and Stiles holds his breath when Derek takes a sip rather than throw it at Stiles' head. Stiles feels tightly wound with apprehension. 

"So Caltech? Good college? My dad has been on me about applications," says Stiles, trying to fill the silence of Derek drinking and him standing there awkwardly holding his own tea latte. He takes a swig and burns his tongue.

"Yeah," Derek nods, his voice sounds scratchy and worn. "I could give you the tour. So you know what you're getting into."

Stiles feels like there is more being said. Like this invisible wall is cracking and it's new and scary but good. He relaxes. His brain trying to find a new equilibrium to his relationship with Derek.

"Dunno, you seem busy," Stiles hedges looking at the legal pad. Some complicated formula is written out. 

"I could use a break," says Derek, his eyes softening. A smile. Or at least what Stiles quantifies as being one, for Derek. It's all very new. 

And it feels like the beginning of something. A new chapter. Stiles' heart beats quicker at the thought.


End file.
